


Moscow

by wkemeup



Series: Brooklyn & Moscow [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bondage, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Rough Sex, Sex, Smut, bucky is still soft, bucky is triggered into the winter soldier (referenced), need for control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:47:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22976392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wkemeup/pseuds/wkemeup
Summary: After being triggered into the winter soldier, Bucky craves the sense of control that had been taken from him. He comes to you, knowing you might be the only person who can give it back. (Prequel to Brooklyn)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Series: Brooklyn & Moscow [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1651150
Comments: 2
Kudos: 113





	Moscow

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel to the one shot Brooklyn but can be read independently! its almost entirely smut but there’s also some feelings™ thrown in bc its me and i need that ok

Bucky stumbled his way through the halls, hands grabbing onto the railings to keep him steady because anger was fuming through his veins and taking control of him in a way little else could. You followed behind him, always a few steps away, because the mission hadn’t just gone bad, it had been a colossal disaster and Steve didn’t trust Bucky to be on his own after what happened. Frankly, neither did you.

He had been triggered; thrown back to the darkest pits of Hydra’s conditioning just as Steve was about to take out the final target in a month-long operation. Russian phrases echoed through the speakers of the Hydra facility, grainy and distorted, but the words found their way into Bucky’s mind and it shut him off like a switch.

Bucky had been ripped from his body and replaced with something darker, emptier, colder, and he beat Steve until blood coated his hands and Tony managed to knock him over the head. You could do nothing but watch from the far end of the room, hand clasped over your mouth, because you were so incredibly human and Bucky had begged you once to never go near him when he was like that. As skilled as you were, even Natasha held you back from charging forward to help. He was ruthless, almost feral, and if he could inflict that kind of damage to Steve and to the armor of Tony’s suit, he would destroy you.

He was only the soldier for a few minutes but it caused enough of a distraction for the target to get away, for Steve to be teetering on consciousness when Bucky came too again. One look in Steve’s direction, catching sight of the blood trailing from his friend’s nose and the swelling and open wounds upon his face, and an awful flash of shame pulled over Bucky’s features. He turned his hands over ahead of him to examine the red caked into the plates of metal like its very presence mocked him.

He bolted from the facility and Steve urged you to follow him, knowing your history and understanding you might be the only person Bucky would even let within a mile of himself. You didn’t hesitate for even a second.

So, you followed Bucky on foot across the city as he made his way back to the hotel Tony rented out for the team; the jet was too far away for an overnight escape and it was a long ride home from Moscow.

He knew you were following him. He was too observant not to, but he didn’t demand you leave, didn’t turn around and scold you for even attempting to come near him. Instead, he kept his shoulders hunched, hands clenching painfully in fists by his side, and he didn’t so much as spare a glance back in your direction. Though you did catch him eye your reflection on the side of a building as he walked past, double checking you were still where he believed you to be. Even in his worst of nights, Bucky couldn’t turn off the instinct to make sure you were okay.

It was how you ended up on the twelfth floor of the nicest hotel you’d ever stepped foot in, trailing behind Bucky as he left dirt and blood stains in his wake. He paused at the room that was assigned for him and fumbled in search for his key. Panting heavily and hands shaking, you reached for the key he gave you just hours earlier and stepped forward.

You placed your hand over his in an effort to calm him, wrapping your fingers around his palm until the shaking ceased and sharp blue eyes snapped in your direction. Wide, angry almost, but then they softened after he let himself really see who was standing next to him. He stepped back, teeth still gritted because he couldn’t get a hold of the anger in his chest and you slid the keycard in and waited until a green light flickered.

Stepping into the room, you held the door open for him as he followed behind. He didn’t say a word as he walked straight to the bathroom, turning the faucet on and closing the door sharply behind him.

You stared at the closed door for a moment, listening intently as he grumbled to himself under his breath words you couldn’t quite understand. Shrugging your bag off of your shoulders and tossing it to the corner of the room, you slowly made your way to the bed and took a careful seat on the edge. Not quite comfortable enough to relax, hands gripping at the sheets as you waited for Bucky to come back to you.

The room was bigger than you anticipated, with gold detailing on the walls and expensive upholstery the team was sure to cause hundreds of dollars of damage to after the hell of the mission and the blood on your suits. It was more than necessary considering the purpose behind your trip to Moscow, but Tony Stark spared no expense. 

When Bucky emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, you look up to find him still in his tactical gear, though the blood had been scrubbed from his hands and the creases of his metal plates. His skin on his right arm was raw and red from the effort.

“Buck?” you called gingerly, “you okay?”

The bed dipped as he sat down next to you. His hands still clenching, unclenching, searching for release and you narrowed your eyes as you watch him. His breaths were heavy, but short, and he dropped his head to his chest.

“I feel like I’m burning,” he confessed quietly, voice aching. “I… I feel like I’ve lost all control of myself, Y/n. It’s like my body’s not my own.”

Your hand slid onto his knee and you squeezed gently, just enough to remind him you’re there next to him. Physical touch was the only thing that grounded him when he was like this.

He watched your hand as you rubbed circles on his thigh, tracing patterns over his pants in an effort to sooth him. But he didn’t need to be soothed, didn’t need to calm down, he needed to ignite the fire in the veins before it consumed him whole. 

“I need,” Bucky started but he bit his tongue. He took a deep breath and turned to face you, pupils a little darker. “I need to feel in control. I can’t… I can’t be that powerless again, Y/n/n. I can’t.”

You nodded, face flushing and knowing where he was going but you needed him to ask for it, needed to hear it aloud because it was so unlike the tender care Bucky usually sought you for.

“Tell me what you want from me, baby,” you whispered as you slowly stood from the bed.

Parting his legs with your knees, you stood between his thighs. He sighed as your hands trailed over the sides of his face, brushing away hair from his eyes, and raking into his scalp. His hands slid up the curve of your thighs, pressing roughly into your muscle just to find something to hold onto as he leaned against your chest.

You dipped forward and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head before you gently pulled him away from your chest, begging him to look at you. Once he did, cool waves of blue turned darker, his jaw clenching and he rose to his feet.

He stepped forward, like he was stalking prey, causing you to take a stumble back until you hit the wall behind you. He caged you with his arms, his hips pressed to yours and you bit your bottom lip between your teeth.

“I want you to let me fuck you. _Hard_ ,” he growled, pressing himself against you and you felt a clench between your legs in anticipation. His breath was hot on your skin as his hands trailed down your sides. He pressed a warm kiss to your neck, sloppy and needy.

“I want you to let me use your body however I want,” Bucky continued, his fingers playing with the zipper of your suit and slowly pulled it down to your navel as the cool air touched your skin. He slid his hand under the fabric, gliding along your skin to leave goosebumps in its wake, and began to cup at your breast, rolling and tweaking at your hardened nipple. 

Your breath hitched, hands squeezing at his shoulders, met with resistance in both metal appendage and hardened muscle, and he chuckled darkly.

“I want you squirming under me, tied up and begging,” Bucky continued with a hiss and he grinded his hips against yours, the hardened outline of his arousal prominent through his suit and you hiked a leg to wrap around his waist seeking the friction you needed.

He nipped at your neck, hot breath trailing up until he paused at your ear, and whispered, “I want to fuck your tight little pussy until you’ve come so many times, you’re screaming for me to stop.”

You gasped as Bucky bit down onto your earlobe and your hands curled around his neck. The Bucky you knew was loving and gentle and perfect in every way but you’d never heard such filth come from the sweet purr of his voice before. The words flowed straight from his mouth to your core and you pushed your hips against his to alleviate the ache.

His hand gripped at the curve of your ass before he let it slide down the under of your thigh, along the leg wrapped at his waist. Slowly, he pushed it back down to your side and you whined.

“What do you say?” he pulled back, a fire in his eyes and heat burning on his skin as he looked you over. “Gonna let me do whatever I want with you?”

“ _God yes_ ,” you exhaled and without wasting even a second, Bucky slammed his lips to yours. Greedy and hungry, rushed and hard, and unlike any other kiss you’d shared with him before, but it exhilarated you. 

He parted your legs with his knee and pressed it up against your core. You rubbed yourself down onto him shamelessly, hard muscle between your legs, and he grinned against your lips.

Harsh hands pulled at the fabric of your suit, fingers digging under it and peeling it down your shoulders to expose your chest. He groaned as he struggled to get the tight material off of your body and accidentally shoved you away from the wall and back a few paces until you hit the dresser with a thud. A flash of concern brushed over him but you gave him a wink, signaling you were okay, and he nodded, letting his features harden over again.

You removed the rest of the suit yourself, watching eagerly as Bucky did the same. Slow, calculated movements as he unbuckled each clasp on his jacket, hungry eyes staring at you as you stood entirely naked before him. He pulled his shirt over his head, tossing the fabric across the room before he strutted towards you. Lower half still clothed but with the shine of his left arm reflecting in the dim lighting through the window, he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your entire body flush against his.

“So fucking gorgeous, doll,” he mumbled into your hair as his hands roamed down your body and squeezed at your ass. 

Being so exposed, vulnerable and open to him, naked, while he was still partially covered, only seemed to add to the excitement stirring in your stomach. Your hands reached around his neck, playing with the tips of his hair and he gripped harshly at your wrists, pulling they away from him and positioning them on the dresser behind you.

“You don’t get to touch me until I say so,” Bucky instructed, releasing your hands with the silent demand to keep them where they are. You nodded carefully, thighs quivering as he placed two fingers on your lips.

“Suck,” he demanded and you took his fingers into your mouth, tongue swirling and coating them wet until he was satisfied and he pulled them from your lips with a _pop._ Then, his hand traveled down along your curves, around your thigh, and slowly slipped between your legs.

He ran his fingers up your slit, swirling in the wetness and fire pooled in your veins. Two fingers dipped between your folds and you could practically smell your own arousal as it dripped from your thighs.

“So needy for me, aren’t you?”

You nodded, a whimper escaping you as he curled his fingers at your entrance, hooking into you as he met your eye. His grip on you, _in you,_ was firm and hard and his body was flush up against yours enough to feel every ridge in his muscles.

He dragged his fingers along your inner walls, bending at knuckles and stretching you. You whimpered into his shoulder.

“Tell me who this belongs to.”

“You,” you gasped, hands digging into the edge of the dresser to find purchase, “belongs to you.”

“Good girl,” Bucky said as he removed his fingers, leaving you so incredibly empty and you couldn’t help but think playfully that if he had meant that, he wouldn’t have taken his fingers from you. There wasn’t room for that sort of teasing tonight. Bucky needed something else from you and you were more than willing to play into that role for him. Whatever he needed. Always.

“Get on the bed,” he snapped, grabbing a firm grip of your wrist and pushing you towards the mattress.

Wasting no time, you crawled up to the mattress, silk sheets under the bare of your skin as you waited for him, for further instruction. He started to pace around the room, the moonlight cascading in through the window illuminating the soft ripples of muscle down his chest and back. Darkened scars on his shoulder where flesh met metal on full display and he didn’t shy away from it, not anymore, not around you.

Bucky paused suddenly as he stood next to the curtains; long, maroon in color, and he picked one end up from the bottom, examining it in his hands. You watched him under narrowed eyes as he grabbed a firm hold and ripped off a piece from the end, frayed strings of material in its wake. Tony certainly won’t be happy about that. Add it to another expense of allowing the Avengers access to one of the nicest hotels in the city.

Bucky turned the fabric over in his hands, touching it, running the flesh of his right hand over it. He grinned to himself and made his way back towards the bed. Looking down at you, laid out and ready for him, something softer washed over him, like he forgot for a minute why he had even asked for something rougher than he usually asked from you.

Shaking his head, pulling himself back into the mindset he so desperately craved because the fire was too hot in his veins, the lack of control he’d experienced just an hour prior too engraved in him. He was about to gesture for your hands, but he stopped, clenching the fabric tightly.

“I need a safe word, doll.”

His voice is soft, tender and it reminded you of the Bucky you usually found in the dead of night. You glanced up at him and find him running the fabric through his right hand almost nervously, tugging at it to test the elasticity of it. Your heart raced in your chest as you met his eye.

“Brooklyn.”

He smiled at that.

“Say it again,” he requested.

You do and Bucky’s hand trailed along your exposed skin, vulnerable and needy and tingling under his touch. With a quick nod, he found his character again and you handed him your wrists before he could even ask. Wordlessly, he tied the fabric around your wrists and adhered it to the bedpost. 

On your back, you laid in wait for him, thighs clenched together though it did no use to fill the aching void you so desperately needed from him. He stepped back, admiring his work as hungry eyes scanned over you.

You watched as he began to undo the belts on his pants, tedious movements with each clasp, and you knew he was teasing you because he wouldn’t tear his eyes away from you. The fabric fell down over his hips and he stepped out of it, kicking it aside. The thin fabric shielding his arousal was removed in haste and he crawled up onto the bed to hover over you, where he belonged.

His cock stood hard out against him, rubbing delicately at your thigh as it swung between his own, and you licked your lips, craving the taste of him on your tongue.

“No time,” he grunted with the shake of his head, having noticing your stare.

You looked up at him and saw his jaw was clenching so hard you could see the flicker of his muscle through his cheeks. He was fighting off something in his head, something more than just the raw desire he felt in that moment, something that demanded his need for control.

“I’m yours,” you reminded him, voice low as he turned to catch your eye. “I’m yours and you can do whatever you want with me.”

Bucky stared at you for a moment, almost lost, because he was fighting some sort of battle in his head you couldn’t read. He glanced down to between your legs, back to your face, like he’s reassuring himself of your words, that it was okay to do what he needed, to be rough and hard with the woman he cared so deeply for.

“Take me, Bucky,” you plead, noticing his hesitancy.

Bucky swallowed and he eventually nodded. He let out a heavy exhale.

Slowly, he grabbed a hold of his cock, stroked it a few times, and rubbed the head through the folds of your slit, coating it in your wetness. You closed your eyes at the feeling, head pressing back into the pillows as you arched up against him the longer he touched you. 

You tugged on the restraints, desperate to run your hands over his thighs, circle around his cock, comb through his hair, something, _anything,_ but it’s not what he wanted, not what he _needed_ tonight, so you bit your tongue. There would be more of that another night.

“Gonna fuck you so good,” Bucky groaned as his tip lined up with your entrance, the sinful words dripping from his lips. “Gonna make it hard and rough for you. That what you want, baby? You want me to fuck you real hard? Make it so you can still feel me between your legs in the morning?”

“Oh, fuck yes,” you whined as his fingers began to rub at your clit. Your core clenched around air, throbbing and needy for him. He still hadn’t filled you and you were aching, desperate, and withering beneath him like he wanted. He put more pressure on your clit. “Need to you fuck me, baby. Fuck me till it hurts. Please _, ah_ , Sergeant!”

Bucky paused at that, raising an eyebrow at the rank as it rolled off your tongue with such delicious need, and a smirk pulled at his lips, surging newfound confidence. His fingers dug into your hips, pressing down hard enough to feel the bones beneath and he sank down into you with one harsh thrust.

It was exquisite. The way he stretched and completed you and had you rutting up against him instinctively searching for more.

“What did I tell you about doing that?” Bucky snarled and he pressed your hips back down with a growl to remind you who was in charge. But you were so full and he was so still as his hands started to roam over your body, up your stomach along your breasts, pinching at hardening nipples. It was too much and staying still with him hard inside you was impossible.

He took his time with you, so patient despite the anger boiling in his veins because even when he’s like this, even when every ounce of him has been beaten and manipulated by a force who tormented him for decades, they can’t make him want to be cruel to you, even if you agreed so eagerly.

Unprovoked, Bucky rolled his hips against you and you cried out from the sudden sensation. He steadied himself on the headboard, one hand gripping just above where your wrists were tied, the other digging into your hip and pulled out of you slowly, just enough to brush his tip over your clit again.

Then, Bucky slammed himself back into you with a grunt, fast and hard, and he didn’t let up once he started. Friction where you needed it most, a pleasant burn between your legs, and pleasure building at your core, between your legs, in your stomach. You struggled against the bindings, hands yearning to touch the man above you as he grunted and moaned and shook as he chased his release.

The creak of the bed was loud, the headboard slammed against the wall, and you planted your feet against the mattress, pushing up against Bucky’s thrusts because lying still wasn’t an option and Bucky was too far gone to notice or care. His grip on your hip was painful but it stung in a way that only spurred on the clenching at your core.

“F- _fuck_ , ah,” Bucky moaned out and he moved his hand from your hip to circle at your clit. Wet and dripping and sensitive beyond belief, you cried out as he put pressure on the nub, your walls clenching from the touch. “So good, baby, so fucking good for me. There’s nothing like you being wrapped around me like this, _nothing._ My girl. My— _oh,_ _fuck_ —my girl. So good.”

You nodded frantically, begging, because you were so close and you were teetering on the edge of release and Bucky was starting to lose his rhythm. He was close, skin hot and hips jutting out desperately. His hands scraped along the nightstand and the lamp fell to the ground with a loud crash. He paid it no attention because there was nothing but his cock sliding in and out of you and your pussy clenching so tight around him, he was seeing stars. It was everything. It consumed him whole. 

“Bucky! B-Bucky, _oh God,_ I’m– _fuck,_ I’m so close,” you cried, the walls at your core clenching around him with every thrust. Pressure building and building and you don’t notice as Bucky’s left hand on the headboard gripped so tightly it broke a piece clean off. He tossed it halfway across the room with a grunt.

Then, all at once, your release hit you in blinding waves as Bucky’s thrusts continued rapid and needy. You cried out as each swell hit and crashed and he didn’t let up in search of his own release. Wrists tugging against silk fabric and you could hardly stand not being able to touch him, to coax him through the way his eyes fluttered shut, how his biceps shook and his lips parted open so beautifully in a drawn-out gasp.

“Come for me, baby,” you urged him on, pushing up to kiss at his neck, even with your hands bound above your head. He grunted, turning to meet your lips because he can’t bear to play this character anymore and captured your mouth against his. Despite the pant of his breath, he relished the feel of your kiss and he gasped against your tongue.

“F-fuck, baby,” he grunted, glancing down to where you were conjoined, watching himself slide into you with each thrust. “I’m gonna— _Fuck,_ sweetheart, I’m so close. I’m– I’m gonna come–”

He came with a strangled cry and several slower, drawn out thrusts as he spilled into you, warm and full until he had nothing left to give, before he collapsed against your chest. His breath hot on your skin, glistening with sweat, as he exhaled a sigh of relief. You stretched forward as much as you could to kiss the crown of his head and he hummed contently above you.

Bucky pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder, your collarbone, and he pushed himself up enough to work at removing the knot from your wrists. His lips pressed to your elbow, your forearms, as he worked and the red silk slipped from your wrists and onto the floor, cool air soothing over the tender skin.

“You feel better?” you asked him carefully as he settled down back into the bed, kissing at your wrists. You smiled at him as he tenderly touched at the slightly red marks around your wrists, pressing kisses so soft and gentle you almost couldn’t feel them. 

“Better than when I walked in this room,” Bucky admitted with a tired chuckle, “but I always feel better when I’m with you. Probably would have been able to work through it with you even if we just laid here and watched television all night.”

“This was nice, too, you know,” you giggled, curling up against his chest but Bucky stiffened. He sucked in a shaky breath.

“Was it?” he asked genuinely because he wasn’t sure. 

His eyes glanced down to your hip and there were purple marks already forming in the shape of his hand. He couldn’t help the grimace that soured his face as he ran his fingers tenderly over the bruising. He never wanted to leave marks on you like this, not ones made from the harsh grip of his hands rather than the warmth of his lips. It scared him, knowing that he could do something like that to you without even realizing it.

“It was,” you stressed sincerely, grabbing his hand away from your hip before he can trap himself in the cage of guilt again. You held it softly in your own, tracing patterns and bringing his knuckles to your lips. “It _was_ good, Buck. Different, maybe. But it was you. It’s always good with you.”

He smiled at that, an exhale of relief in his chest as he tugged you tighter against him. He kissed your forehead, running his hands soothingly along your curves; tender, gentle touches so familiar of the man you adored. Lingering brushes over your skin until you were lulled to sleep, listening to the steady sound of a heartbeat against your ear; steady, firm, in control.


End file.
